fete''* ■'■■■>■ ' 









i 











.*^' 




*^0 







,v^ 



The 

Passing Show 

Five Modern Plays in Verse 
By Harriet Monroe 




BOSTON and NEW TORK 



^~'. ' 



Houghton, Mifflin an^d.^omi^ant' ;§;,• ' 
(3rt)e jaibcrjsitie '^izi^y Camliritige 
1903 



^C.i_,^.^.. ^ ..... ,.;..; 



COPYRIGHT 1903 BY HARRIET MONROE 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



Published Nonjember i^o^ 



Go, book of me^ to the one who knows 

If one there he. 
Tea^ bear me where that spirit goes^ 

And set me free » 



CONTENTS 

The Thunderstorm i 

At the Goal 51 

After All 67 

A Modern Minuet 77 

It Passes By 87 



THE THUNDERSTORM 

A Play in "Two Acts 



PERSONS OF THE PLAT. 

John Mather. 

Adela Mather, his wife. 

Stephen Mather, his brother. 

Dexter Dalton. 

Laura Dalton, wife to Dexter. 

Felix Merivale. 

Lois Dale. 

The action takes place at the country house of John 
Mather^ during a summer afternoon and evening. 



The 

Thunderstorm 

Act I. 



Scene. — l!he large living-room of a suburban 
housCy with a broad screen door and windows 
opening on a roofed veranda. Lois Dale, 
at the window^ is watching the heavy rain^ 
while Stephen Mather listlessly fumbles 
magazines on the table, "Timey late afternoon. 

Lois. The rain would drown the summer if it 
dared. 
Deep in a thick gray sea. 

Stephen. It pours like mad. 

Lois. See the whipt trees praying for mercy ! 

Stephen. Yes — 

A nice time, this, to ask a crowd from town ! 

Lois. Do you remember — 

Stephen. What? 



4 The Thunderstorm 

Lois. Those lovely lines — 

That poem of your brother^s which has made 
The lost world sing forever to the rain ? 

Stephen, Remember ? — No ! — John and his 
poetry ! 

Lois. How will you answer the avenging gods 
For such contempt ? 

Stephen, The gods will take my part. 

A man should play his role. 

Lois, And if your brother 

Were born to be a poet ? — 

Stephen, He would be one. 

Instead of making steel. 

Lois, Of course — how simple 

A thing it is to live ! 

Stephen, Genius will out. 

Lois, If all the happy stars conspire. If not. 
Who can persuade the stars ? 

Stephen, Has he done nothing ? 

Steel is the better for him. 

Lois, Yes, and so 

You will not loose your hold. If he were born 
For singing, and this yoke upon his neck 
Were bound by all the indissoluble ties ! 
Your father dying then, his brave career 
To be fulfilled ; your mother, sisters, you 



The Thunderstorm 5 

To serve ! Ah, could a poet be a man. 
Loving and living, and deny these claims ? 
But now — 

Stephen, And you would solemnly convince 
me 
That he should drop the mills and give himself 
Forever to the muse ! 

hois. Give him himself. 

I care not whether he make steel or verses. 
So he be free. 

Stephen, Pshaw ! — you are crazy too. 

*T is merely madness with him, mere excess ; 
One of his ways of rioting. Who knows 
What new fantastic license he may take 
When the wild mood is on ? 

Lois, What happens when 

The steam that ought to turn a thousand wheels 
Finds its vent closed ? 

Stephen, What a fine tragedy 

You build us out of common clay like ours. 
Here in the suburbs ! 

Lois, Tragedy should dwell 

In mediaeval palaces afar. 
Trailing her purple robes ! 

Stephen, Perhaps it *s you 

Who are the poet. 



6 The Thunderstorm 

Lois, If it were — alas ! — 

Rather this tempest beating on my head 
Than to be housed in here ! 

Enter Laura Dalton. 
Laura, What 's to be done ? 

No golf, no riding, nothing in the world — 
But — 

Stephen, Talk to me. 

Laura, Who could ask more than that ? 

Where 's John ? 

Stephen, So — always John. What do you 
want 
With John? 

Laura. To be amused. 
Stephen, Will no one ask 

My gifted brother for a moon or two ? 
He has a special line of moons. 

Laura, The sun will do — 

A little sunshine. 

[Lois goes through the screen door and walks 
up and down on the broad roofed veranda^ 
watching the rain ; then sits down out of 
sight, 
Stephen, Lois tires of us. 

Laura, No wonder! 

Stephen, Does your ladyship intend 

A compHment ? 



The Thunderstorm 7 

Laura. With you in such a temper. 

Why should she stay ? 

Stephen, With you seeking another, 

Should I be gay ? 

Laura, Oh, you are wearisome. 

Stephen, If so to you, what am I to myself? 

Laura, A god, I half suspect. 

Stephen, Since I adore 

A goddess ? 

Laura, Go adore some human girl. 
And marry her, my boy, and so be sure 
To have one worshiper forever. 

Stephen, Sure ! — 

Of any woman ? 

Laura, Oh, how cynical ! 

How most profoundly wise ! 

Stephen, And if I have 

A cynic's wisdom, many thanks to you. 
Who teach me day by day. 

Laura, Poor sufferer ! 

Have I not sins enough, and heavy enough 
That you should burden me with yours ? 

Stephen, One sin 

You have — you like to watch me in the cage. 
But some fine day I '11 break it. 

Laura, ' And be free ? 

Nothing would please me more. 



8 The Thunderstorm 

Stephen, Yes, it would please you 

To feel my claws at last. 

Laura, And recognize 

At last the animal. 

Stephen, You guileless women — 

With your conventional morality ! 
What would become of all your principles 
In any more indecorous land or age 
Than this, I wonder ? 

Laura, So — are these your claws 

I do not like them. 

Stephen, Hm ! this is a growl — 

No more. 

Laura, Why should I listen to your growls ? 
\She takes a hook from the table and sits 
down to read. He walks up and down, 
A pause, 

Stephen, It rains. 

Laura, Ah — does it ? 

Stephen, Once upon a time 

There was a deluge. 

Laura, Really ! 

Stephen, Your book 

Is quite absorbing. 

Laura {yawning ), Yes — " Degeneration," 
The cheerful German outlook. 



The Thunderstorm 9 

Stephen, It is queer 

How many pages some men will consume 
To show what fools they are. 

Laura, And other men 

Must prove it in their deeds. 

Stephen, Yes, but with us 

The truth is not blazoned before the world ; 
It lies between one woman and oneself 

Laura, Not always. 

Stephen, Do you mean — 

Laura, Oh yes, I mean 

Only last night my husband laughed at you. 

Stephen, Damn him ! 

Laura, What would you do, I wonder now. 
In any world less decorous than this? 

Stephen, Kill, I suppose. 

Laura, And here you can do nothing 

But make yourself ridiculous. 

Stephen, Take care — 

You go too far. 

Laura, Oh, let me read. 

Enter Dexter Dalton and Felix Merivale. 

Balton, Not here ! 

He must be drowned, I think. Laura, wake up. 
What shall we do to-night to outwit the storm ? 

Laura, Give it its will. 



lo The Thunderstorm 

Dalton, I fancy we shall have to 

There, out-of-doors. But here, under this 

roof — 
Come, let us challenge it. 

Laura, Do — what to do ? — 

As though one could be merry by design ! 

Merivale, A vaudeville ! 

Dalton, This literary juggler 

Will toss a novel, essay, play, and poem 
All in the air at once. 

Merivale, This connoisseur 

Of law and art will make miraculous leaps 
Upon the double trapeze. 

Laura {pointing to Stephen ). And there is one 
Who at a wink will swallow swords of fire. 

Stephen, If you provide them. 

Dalton, And the lady there 

Shall wield the whip and keep us in the ring. 

Laura, The ladle, do you mean ? 

Merivale, Ah, you have heard 

The story of — 

Stephen, Of course we have. 

Merivale, The story — 

Dalton, Which is it ? Who will guess ? 

Merivale, A new one, friends ; 

And apropos — about a punch-bowl. 



The Thunderstorm ii 

Stephen, New ! 

As though he could for even a single day- 
Keep a new tale unprinted ! 

Merivale, And if not 

*T is you, my unappreciative friends 
Who are to blame. You force me to appeal 
To the wise public. 

Stephen, Happy public ! 

Laura, Come — 

Tell me the tale. I am extremely wise, 
And sympathetic as a summer breeze. 

Stephen, Beware ! 

Laura. Tell me the tale. 

[Laura and Merivale sit down in a corner 
to talk, Dalton has been examining a 
landscape on the wall, 

Dalton, Ah, what a touch ! 

Where did John dig up this Cezanne ? 

Stephen, In Rouen. 

Some little local dealer did n't know 
What he had got and sold it for a song. 
You like it ? 

Dalton, It 's a gem. What modeling ! 

The very pulse-beat of the sun ! It 's queer 
What that old vagabond divined before 
Monet put brush to canvas. See that sky — 



12 The Thunderstorm 

Brazen, relentless, dreaming of a storm ! 
I have seen skies like that. 

Stephen, Have you, indeed ? 

I doubt if Cezanne ever did. 

Dalton, But look — 

He painted it. 

Stephen. Ah, did he ? I hate pictures. 

Damn them at random, don't pretend to know ; 
But John adores that medley just because 
The painter stopped halfway. Your brazen sky 
Is the bare canvas. 

Dalton {confused). On my soul, it is ! 
Just like Cezanne. 

Stephen {lighting a cigarette). To trip his 
worshipers ? 
Alas, these connoisseurs ! Why not admit 
That you and I don't know a thing about it ? 

Dalton, This light, you know — the storm — 

Stephen, Ah, yes — I know — 

It is the light, of course. 

Laura { looking around). Tell me the quarrel. 
What are these gibes ? 

Stephen, Nothing — we were admiring 

Cezanne's relentless sky. 

Laura, Look out, my jewel, 

I always said this sudden zeal for art 
Would get you into trouble. 



The Thunderstorm 13 

Dalton, Look at her ! 

Impeach my connoisseurship, if you dare. 
Before that picture. She refutes the slander, 
And makes me proof against the jeering world 
And all the freaks of genius. 

Stephen, Yes, I knew 

She could work miracles. 

Dalton, Come, Merivale, 

And help me down this Philistine. 

Merivale. Young David 

Suing for help ! The rain has spoiled my 

weapons — 
I am as sluggish as a crocodile. 

Laura, We are a stagnant pool. Yet if some 
hand 
Should throw a single stone into its depths — 

Stephen, What hand ? 

Merivale, What stone ? 

Laura, Anyone ! anything ! 

Oh, I am tired of sitting on the rim 
And staring at my inner consciousness. 

Merivale, Where is Miss Dale ? Ask her to 
throw the stone. 

Stephen ( contemptuously ). Lois ! 
Enter Adela Mather. 

Adela, Where is she ? Yes, and John is gone. 
I have been looking for him everywhere. 



14 The Thunderstorm 

Stephen, Portentous ! 

Adela. He 's not here — not in the house. 

Laura (rising abruptly). But she is ! 

Adela, Where ? 

Laura, She was — where did she go ? 

Adela, Well, where ? 

Stephen, Don't be alarmed — she's on the 
porch. 
Why are you always rushing here and there. 
And doing this and that ? 

Adela, How can I help it. 

Married to him ? 

Stephen, Let him alone ! Good heaven ! 

Send him to China, or the pyramids. 
And see if this unconscionable world 
Can get along without him. 

Merivale, There are others. 

Stephen, Perhaps. 

Merivale, Well, we shall see. 

[Exit Merivale to the porch, 

Adela, If I could know 

Just once what he would do that very minute, 
I might have hopes of ease. 

Stephen, You never will. 

Adela, I must. Oh, for a husband like the 
rest. 



The Thunderstorm 15 

Who travels in the road and does not wander 
Through every sunny field ! 

Laura, Faith, what a wish ! — 

A husband like the rest ! 

Dalton. Faith, what a slur ! 

See how they love us, Mather, — these our 

wives ; 
And then go find one. 

Stephen, He who puts his trust 

Upon a woman — 

Laura, Is a Solomon 

Compared with her who pins her faith upon 
A man. 

Adela, They are such infants, and of all 
The children who blow bubbles in the sun, 
John is the willfulest. 

Laura, Then give him up. 

And let him blow his bubbles. After all. 
They shine. 

Stephen, And burst. 

Laura, Well, most things do — alas ! 

So why not sparkle if you can, before 
The suffocating tragedy ? 

Adela, Meantime 

I shall go mad of sheer bewilderment. 
My brain is tired with following him, with trying 



i6 The Thunderstorm 

To think ahead of him. 

Stephen. The brains of women 

Were never made to think. *T is not alone 
Yourselves you tire by thinking. 

Laura, Thought is slow. 

Roundabout — masculine, in short. But we — 
We know without it. 

Stephen, Far too well. 

Adela, Then tell me — 

How does it stand with Lois ? Will she take 

him ? — 
For I can neither think nor do I know. 

Laura, Well, Merivale is famous, rich 
enough. 
And most persistent — 

Stephen, And a poet, too — 

Laura, The people's own. And Lois — 

Stephen, And our Lois 

Is thirty-one. 

Adela, What does she care for that ? 

Laura, What you or I or any woman cares. 
And yet — 

Adela, Well — 

Laura, Yet I dare not say she '11 do it. 

Stephen, Then she 's a fool. 

Laura, Yes — doubtless. Women are 

Frequently fools. 



The Thunderstorm 17 

Adela. If she should let him go 

She would deserve all the hard knocks and more 
That fate has given her. 

Laura, Yes — poor girl — deserve 

To play at odds with life till death comes by 
And pities her. 

Enter Lois and Merivaleyrt?^? the porch. - 

Lois, I fear for you. 

Merivale, Alas — 

Throttle your conscience. 

Lois, Novels rushing out 

From the hot press in legions, editors 
Clamorous for a line, three plays at once 
Crowding three houses, critics on their knees — 

Merivale. Well, since they would not take 
my best — alas ! — 
I had to do my worst. 

Lois, The grateful people ! 

How richly they reward the lucky man 
Who gives them what they want ! come, friends 

and foes. 
What shall we do to dim his lucky star 
And save this laureled victor from success ? 

Merivale. Is she not kind ? 

Lois. Success the sycophant. 

Whose smile hides treachery, who fawns and 
serves 



i8 The Thunderstorm 

That so man may forget and be her slave ; 
Success, who holds his weakness then by threats 
And whispered fears ; who hides the truth from 

him 
And the stern front of justice, and at last 
When she has won him wholly, till his soul 
Is mirrored in her eyes, casts him away 
To all the dogs of ruin. 

Laura, To your knees. 

And pray the gods for failure. 

Merivale. I am saved. 

Success may do her worst — it is not much. 
While this philosopher despises her. 

D alt on. She *s not so bad — I think that even 
to-day 
If she should offer me her poisoned cup 
I 'd drink it to the dregs. 

Stephen. And ask for more. 

Lois, Yes, that 's the way with us. And so 
even you. 
With million-dollar cases in your office 
And masters* masterpieces on your walls — 
Even you have not enough. 

Balton, No — not enough. 

These million-dollar cases in the courts. 
That stay there with their miUions ; and these 
pictures, 



The Thunderstorm 19 

That hide their secrets from the rich and great 
To tell them unto babes ! Ah, do not fear ! 
Success ? — there 's no such thing ! 

[John Mather, who has entered the house 
unperceived from the other side^ in riding 
dress ^ and thrown off a wet cape and hat in 
the halU now walks in quietly. His top- 
hoots and trousers are splashed with mud 
and rain. 
John. Despise it then. 

T) alt on. Well, you *re a spectacle ! 
Laura, God of the storm ! 

Adela, O John, what have you done ? 
Lois. Blown with the gale ! 

What did the thunder say ? 

John, It said — ride fast. 

And loose the world like me! 

Stephen, Fine day for riding. 

John, Glorious ! for ten thousand shining 
demons 
Joined in the race, slapping their saucy sides. 
Laura, And did you beat them ? 
John, Else how am I here ? 

Look — the storm nods; the rain falls sul- 
lenly. 
Heavy and straight and languid. But at first 



20 The Thunderstor 



M 



The fallen gods crossed swords with gods of 

light 
For a lost world. 

Lois. Which side had your allegiance ? 

John {smiling). My friend the devil deserves 
my loyalty. 
Has he not played me fair ? 

^dela {who has hurried out and returned with 
a glass of whiskey-and-water). 

Here, John, drink this. 
You *ll take your death. 

John, Death would be sweet to take — 

A green place by the dusty road, a pause, 
A silence. Speak no ill of death ! But this — 
Pale counterfeit of life ! Give it to Dalton, 
And help him change the color of his world. 

Dalton {taking it). If ever a color needed 
changing — 

Laura, Yes — 

We have been gray — ashes and mud and lead. 
Show us the gold. 

Stephen, Being a poet. 

John, Ah — 

Who told you ? 

Stephen, Lois tells me that the muses 

Wear mourning for you. 



The Thunderstorm 21 

John. Lois knows them. 

Lois, Hush ! 

I dream of them, but in their sacred groves 
You walk anointed. 

John, Then, by all the gods. 

This day we climb Olympus. Let us have 
Revels to match the tempest, set our feast 
Above these quarreling clouds, and for a night 
Make the immortals envious ! 

Lois, What are we — 

To brave the gods ! 

Laura, Immortals, too ! The word 

Is given — I feel the aureole 'round my hair. 

Stephen, Beware ! — the earth 's a comfortable 
place. 

Balton, But tiresome, though. Let 's try the 
other sphere ! 

Merivale. Myself have had some commerce 
with the gods — 

John, And found them docile, did you ? You 
shall be 
Apollo, with the morning in your eyes. 

Merivale, A pretty tribute to my beauty ! 

Lois, Yes — 

And talents manifold. 

Laura, And I — 



22 The Thunderstorm 

John {bowing low). And you — 

Who else but Aphrodite ? 

Stephen, By that token, 

I will be Mars. 

Dalton, A proper role ! 

Lois, Nay, Jove — 

Ruler of gods and men. 

John, Yea, so he is ; 

Jove of the cheque-book, the great modern god, 
Who keeps us groveling mortals at our work. 

Stephen, Poor Jupiter, whom all obey and 
fear ! 
If I am he, who may not be beloved. 
Beware my lightnings ! 

Adela, Who am I then ? 

Laura, Juno — 

The queen of heaven and mistress of the world. 

Adela, A pack of empty titles ! 

Lois {to John). Piteous, 

Tragic beyond the cunning of the fates. 
Is each new comedy you choose to play. 

John, Then play it to the death ! 

Lois, I cannot hear 

Your words for voices, nor can see you there 
For ghosts that rise. 

John, Defy them ! — if you don't 



The Thunderstorm 23 

They strangle you. Behold her — she is Pallas, 
With wisdom on her lips — 

Lois. And pain at heart 

John. Would you be wise and happy both ? 
Not here. 
Not even on high Olympus may you brave 
The envy of the gods. Hear me once more ! 
The word goes forth that may not be recalled. 
Dalton is Hermes — Hermes the quick-witted, 
Light-footed, and light-fingered. 

Dalton, Ha ! — and you ? 

John. And I am Bacchus — he has whis- 
pered me ! — 
Bacchus, the god of revels. If I know him. 
He is the only sane one at the feast ; 
He, sad with too much joy, and heavy-witted 
With too much knowledge, who alone of all 
At loaded tables may forbear — behold, 
I place his chaplet on my brow, and now 
Summon you in his name. When the clock 

grows 
Fat with big hours, meet me and have your will. 
Immortals all ! 

Laura. To hear is to obey. 

John. Go and prepare your souls — each one 
alone. 
Lose the dark world — 



24 The Thunderstorm 

Adela, But, John, it 's dinner-time. 

John. He dines who will — I fast before the 
feast. 
Dreams are the meat to feed on when, the earth 
Sinks like a stone, the meat to make us bold 
Among the stars, our peers. 

Lois, To make us mad. 

John. And if there *s joy in madness — 

Merivale, Let us go ! 

Dreams or a dinner — there 's the choice. 

Stephen. I choose 

What I am sure of. 

Laura. There thou liest ! Nay, 

What he is never sure of does man choose — 
'T is Aphrodite speaks. 

Merivale. And Jupiter, 

Who hates the truth like other crowned kings 
Heeds not the blasphemy. 

Dalton. The word is given. 

Away — each to communion with his soul ! 

Stephen, Or stomach. 

Adela. Heavens ! what next ! 

Lois. The word is given. 

When the black hours grow big — 

John. When each has won 

His secret from the silence, come again. 
(Curtain.) 



Act II. 

Scene. — 'The dining-rooniy with a round mahog- 
any table set as at the end of a supper. A 
screen-door y at rights opens on the veranda. 
It is after midnight, The supper is over, 
but the people are toying with nuts, candies ^ 
wine-glasses, etc, and plenty of champagne 
is cooling on the buffet. Some of the party 
are drawn up to the table, others have left 
it, others recline classically on couches, They 
wear costumes ridiculously significant of the 
gods whose characters they assume, or of the 
modern import of those gods ; such draperies 
and emblems as they could make up im- 
promptu from the resources of the house and 
garden, and wear or carry, usually over 
their ordinary dress, John, as Bacchus, has 
the head of the table, with Laura, as Aphro- 
dite, in a costume charming but rather dar- 
ing, at his right. His wife, as Juno, reclines 
on a couch opposite him^ with Merivale, as 
Apollo, and l^ois, as Pallas, near her, Ste- 
phen, as Zeus, reclines lazily at the rear, 
with Dalton, as Hermes, beside him. 



26 The Thunderstorm 

John, Now ye have feasted, fill your cups 
again ! 
We feed on things that perish, and from them 
Take the immortal essence, and so dare 
To know whither and whence, and bear un- 
wearied 
The burden of the suns. Lift the wine high. 
And tell us, with its nectar on your lips. 
Your errand in a sacrilegious world 
That would forget the gods. What make ye 

here, 
Banished long since in shame ? Great Jove the 

king. 
What mak'st thou here ? 

Stephen, Since I am Jove the king. 

Why should I talk? Deeds are my line, not 

words. 
My only voice is thunder. 

Laura, Dost thou find 

The hearts of mortals changed ? 

Stephen, How should I know. 

Who never think ? I 'm running railroads now 
And drawing cheques. The world was but a 

garden 
When I was young — now it *s a factory. 
Well, it is easier to handle so. 



The Thunderstorm 27 

With all mankind going the self-same way. 
Doing the self-same thing. 

Laura. And yet to me 

'T is the same wanton world. Now as of old 
Men make a great ado of business — r 
War, trade, and tyranny — yet now, as then, 
They live and die for love. 

John, Hush ! dost thou dare 

Utter the secret word ? Banish the thought 
From our chaste company, lest it should 

bring 
Madness more rash than sparkles in this 

wine. 
Athene, from thy deeps beyond calm eyes 
Teach her the joys of wisdom. 

Lois, Ignorant 

Thou art, to deem that joy is wisdom^s quest. 
Serene she is and selfless her desire. 
Beyond the lowly haunts of joy and sorrow 
She ranges with the stars. 

Laura, And so on earth 

Has little influence. 

John, And so on earth 

Has more than we, showing the way to spurn it. 
And thus be free. She is the enemy — 
None but her do I fear. For all ye others 



28 The Thunderstorm 

This drug has sleep or madness. Drink it down. 
And let Apollo soothe us with a song. 
Tune up, sweet brother, or thy muses nine 
I '11 fuddle one by one. 

[T'hey drink, all hut John and Lois, who 

merely touch their glasses, Merivale rises y 

strikes his banjo^ and chants his song to 

its accompaniment, 

Adela (to Dal ton). What fools we are ! 

D alt on. Can't help it, I suppose; — it's in 

the air. 
Merivale. 
I am Apollo, who of yore in groves abided 
With maidens nine to hark enchanted to my 
song. 
I am Apollo, who upon the sun resided. 

Driving through heaven the fiery coursers all 
day long. 
To me came embassies from suppliant states in 
sorrow. 
To me came hearts at war and fearful of their 
doom; 
For out of yesterday I dragged the shy to- 
morrow. 
And lo, her eyes avowed their rapture and 
their gloom. 



The Thunderstorm 29 

But to-day 't is a different role 

That the tired world bids me play; 
I who chanted of old to its soul 

Must amuse the poor world to-day. 
So I hint at a thousand loves 

In a delicate medley of rhymes, 
And I thrill when the spirit moves 

Over popular wars and crimes. 
But who cares what I sing to my lyre ? 
It is lost in the roaring of fire. 
For in clamorous towns I dwell 
Near the steel-forged gates of hell. 
John. A toast — Apollo, though his voice be 
lost. 
His seven strings snapped ! 

All Apollo ! 

\T!hey rise and drink the toast ^ as before. 
Merivale. Sweet immortals. 

As I am modest, turn your favor from me. 
Why should I speak when Juno, queen of heaven. 
Is silent ? 

Adela, Do not vex your soul for her. 
Juno was always out of it, poor thing ! — 
Poor fool ! 

Stephen, Great Sister, consort of my state, 
"What brings thee earthward now ? 



30 The Thunderstorm 

Adela, I do not know. 

Did Juno ever know? 

Dalton, Juno is here 

To guard her interests ; — that 's my business too. 
But mine have multiplied since thieves became 
So numerous, the tricks of trade so deep. 
Wings are not swift enough — I need to-day- 
Railroads, the telegraph, the telephone ; 
And even then, so dull are grown the gods. 
These men outwit me. 

John, Hermes, god of trusts, 

Of strikes and lock-outs and combines. At last 
We have no need of Mars — look, he is ban- 
ished ; 
For nimble Mercury, the unscrupulous. 
Is the great modern god of war. 

Dalton, Ah, yes. 

Mars cut a dash at first — the blusterer ! — 
But I have undermined his credit, even 
Married his sweetheart, you observe. 

Laura, He 's rich, 

A good provider — how could I resist him. 
Who need so much of late — such palaces. 
And gowns ? 

Merivale, Since he has grown so powerful, 
A toast ! 



The Thunderstorm 31 

Him let Apollo praise 

Who '11 pay for singing ! 
When withered are the bays 

And love 's a-winging. 
Money is good as new — 

It fails us never. 
Give to the giver his due — 
Hermes forever ! 
John (to Laura). Behold how low the gods 
are fallen. 
When even you, the queen of love and beauty, 
Drink to the lord of lies. 

Laura {softly to John). The queen of love ! — 
But if I may not speak my one great word. 
What then is left but lies ? 

John {aloud). Thou shalt speak all. — 

To-night all words are uttered. 

Laura {softly). If thine ear. 

Wherein my word would rest, will hear it not. 
Then speech is but a lie. 

John. Not mine alone ! 

If stars reveal their souls and have no fear, 
Lo, shall we wear the world's hypocrisies. 
We who beyond the stars may range at ease ? 

[^Standing, with brimming glass lifted. 
Drink — to the truth, for now the truth is ours. 



32 The Thunderstorm 

Now we are gods. The truth ! The veils are 

torn. 
The masks are buried with mortality, 
And he who lies must do it to high heaven ! 
The truth ! Vain is denial, vain — more vain 
Is silence ; yea, unutterably vain 
The rags we wear to hide us from ourselves. 
Thus to the light lift up your brimming souls 
And let their secrets break upon your lips ! 
The truth ! 

\_ney rise, and lift glasses high to accept the 

toast ^ saying : — 
Many voices. The truth ! 
Lois, Does moody Bacchus dare 

Summon the truth — the god who maddens her 
With wine, and smothers her with sleep, who 

fears 
To meet her level eyes ? 

John, Mad or asleep, 

Then only doth she flee the bounds of sense 
And shake her great wings free. The truth ! — 

she 's mine. 
By all her dreams ! mine, by the sudden lights 
That flame her frenzied eyes ! Think you to 

find her. 
Led by blind owls of learning? — I have hated 



The Thunderstorm 33 

The owl since long ago he hooted me 

In Nysa*s groves. The truth — beware of her. 

Lest her swift fires consume thee ! 

Lois. She is mine — 

For love, not fear. She dwells in quietness 
With wisdom, and the peering paths of science 
Lead to her grove. My votaries are hers. 
And they outrun swift Hermes with his wings. 
Yea, rob Jove of his lightnings. 

Stephen, Haughty maid. 

Beware those lightnings ! Truth is mine alone. 
For power is mine, and truth is power. 

Merivale, Nay, mine ; 

For what is truth till it be uttered ? Mine, 
By all the muses ! 

Laura, Words ! vain, boastful words ! 

None of ye knows the truth. 

John, In beauty alone — 

Laura, Nay, not in beauty nor song nor 
power nor wisdom. 
Nor yet in madness dwells the truth. 

Stephen. Then where ? 

Laura, 'Tis hence — ye have no power to 
summon it. 
'T is with the absent god. 

John. Drink to him then — 

Challenge the absent god ! 



34 The Thunderstorm 

Laura, And dost thou dare ? 

John, Why not? 

Laura, The insidious, vengeful, jeal- 

ous god. 
Who even on the immortals has no pity — 
Invoke him not ! 

John, Great Eros, now to thee 

We pour this golden wine. Bring us the truth — 
Yea, though thou strip and scourge us, lash it 

home. 
That we may know the utmost, dare the worst. 
And so be free ! 

[^hey drink y as before. 

All hut Lois, Eros ! 

Merivale {to Lois). Your heart 's a-cold ! 
You will not drink to Eros — then beware 
His vengeance ! 

Lois. What shall wisdom fear? 

Merivale, To die 

Of thirst at last. 

Stephen, Immortals, will you take 

This potion he has mixed to make us mad 
And let him pass it by ? No, by this lightning ! 
Down with it, Bacchus — do not sit and stare 
While we sink deeper in your cups. 

Dalton, Take heart — 

*T is not so bad, this potion. 



The Thunderstorm 35 

John. Bacchus gives 

Freely his wild delights. Yea, all but he 
May know the rapture, compass for an hour 
The rounded heavens and mount their peaks 

of fire ; 
While he, alone with dull satiety. 
Must brood upon their bliss. 

Laura. Who ever thought 

Bacchus would grow so eloquent? Taste the 

cup. 
And with its magic on thy lips, thy song 
Shall make Apollo envious. 

Merivale. Try it then. 

And take Apollo's laurels if thou canst ! 

John. The cold green leaves — keep them ! 
For me the fruit. 
Heavy and rich and red ! 

Stephen. Down with it then ! 

Dost hear me ? — I am Jove ! Search thine 

own truth 
Even to the dregs. Drink, for the gods all 

thirst 
Till Bacchus drinks. 

Laura. Soften your heart with wine, 

That Aphrodite's word may sink as deep 
As burning coals in snow. 



36 The Thunderstorm 

John. What says she there. 

That face of stone ? 

Lois, Nothing. 

John. What thinks she there, — 

She in whose thought we float like silver moons. 
Lofty, a-cold. She doth despise too much. 
Look, when I lift the glass how her eyes glare ! 
Laura. Bacchus ! a toast ! a toast ! With 
brimming cups 
We wait the magic word. 

Dalton, A song ! a song ! 

Tune up Apollo's lyre — I found it first. 
'Tis thine to-day. 

John. Your hearts ! give me your hearts. 
And let them beat the music of my song. 
(He sings.) 
Fill full your deep goblets, immortals ! 
Dark red be the flood ! 
. For we who would pass the dream portals 
Must drink our heart's blood. 
We must drink our heart's blood ! 

Red wine ! with all life like a jewel 

Dissolved in the cup — 
Love, faith, yea, and glory the cruel — 

Fill full, fill it up ! 

Fill it full, fill it up ! 



The Thunderstorm 37 

Give all ! be it God or the other 

Who takes it at last ! 
Drink deep ! 't is a sob that we smother, 

A die that is cast. 

'T is a die that is cast. 

[Led hy Stephen, they laugh and lift glasses 
with nervous hilarity, 
Lois, Horrible ! horrible ! 
Merivale, Oh, toss it off! 

Laugh that you may not weep. 

Lois, Weep — weep forever ! 

Let the world drown in tears ! 

John, What does she say ? 

Lois, This — that across your path I lay my 
sword : 
You shall not drink that cup. 

Adela, Shall not, indeed ! 

John, Your sword ! is it not always in my way? 
Laura, Forward ! it is not dangerous. 
Stephen, What folly ! 

Lois, Oh, for God's air ! oh, for the sound of 
wings ! 
Here there are flames and creeping things. — 

Come out 
Into the storm. 



38 The Thunderstorm 

John, And then — 

Lois, You cannot do it — 

And sing your soul away. Do you not see 
The pit there ? Look — you will not. 

Adela (to Lois). Who are you 

To take command here ? Let him have his way, 
So 't is not yours ! 

Laura, Adela ! 

Adela {to Laura). You as well ! 

All, all these elbowing women ! Give me room — 
I suffocate. 

Laura, Good God ! 

Adela, Mummers and masks 1 

Is it not clear as day, your pretty game ? 
I have a role to play. 

\T>uring these speeches^ the people drop par- 
tially their disguises^ so far as they may he 
easily and instantly cast off, 

Stephen (to Laura). Have you had enough ? 
Is this the truth we drank to ? 

Laura, Do not touch me ! 

Stephen, So — it is he ; you follow with the 
crowd. 
Faugh ! is there not one byway in the world 
But I must find my brother at the end ? 
Go — you will never reach him. My revenge 
Is safe with him. 



The Thunderstorm 39 

Laura, I cannot hear nor see you. 

My soul is sick with loathing you. 

Stephen, Poor fool ! 

Where have I been these blind and babyish 

years — 
Cringing even to abhorrence ! It is over. 
Out in the Klondike or the Philippines 
I will go find the man in me. Say more, 
Brave sister — you alone are wise ! 

Adela, More — more ! 

My head aches with it and my heart is sore. 
Lois, You have begun — speak now. 
Merivale, That we may learn. 

Lois, And all the world. 

[John Mather, standing pale and still in his 
place ^ has lowered his glass at \.q\^^ first 
word. When Adela says^ " / have a role 
to playy' he slowly^ his eyes fixed on Lois 
and hers on him^ pours away the wine in 
it, 'Then Lois faces Adela almost buoy- 
antly^ and her words ^ ^^And all the world " 
are said with radiant joy, John strikes 
the tabky breaking the glass ^ and addresses 
the crowd, 
John, *T is done, our little day. 

For greater days have come. Give up its ghost — 
Away ! 



40 The Thunderstorm 

Adela. No, no, for she must speak. 
Lois, 'Tis true. 

We two have still a word ere the day ends. 
Give us our sacred hour. 

John, Then, shadows all, 

Pale maskers, mocking wraiths of gods that 

were. 
Let us go seek the dawn. 

Stephen, Where is the dawn ? 

Merivale, Better the darkness — 
Adela, Gather up your rags, 

Lest 1 should strip them off. What do I care 
Who shrieks or shivers ? Patience has had her 

day — 
Let truth have hers ! 

Laura, Horrible ! horrible ! 

(^0 Dalton.) Take me away. 

Dalton {to his wife). If truth must have 

her day. 
Where shall we find it? 

Laura. Oh, I am afraid ! 

Take me away ! 

[Dalton gives his hand to Laura, and des- 
perately they hasten out, John turns to 
the two men, 
John, Well, is it not enough ? 



The Thunderstorm 41 

Merivale {to Lois). Will you not leave with 
me this place of storm ? 
The crowding feet will trample you, the mad- 
ness 
Will pass and leave you cold. Ah, what is life ? 
A compromise — to win we must concede. 
You shall have much, and even this day at last 
Shall be forgotten. Come ! 

Lois, This day is mine — 

For all the rest, I know not. It is useless. 
My tale is told. 

Merivale, I read it to the end. 

Here in your face — and shut the book forever. 
Steve, the play closes. 

Stephen, Leave them to their war. 

The hour has struck for you and me. Our war 
Is with the fate that struck it, in the day 
That dawns. 

\L ed by John, the three men go out, 

Adela, At last we meet. 

Lois, To meet no more. 

Adela, I see you as a shadow in my path, 
A thing I cannot wound nor crush, that makes 
A night around my soul. 

Lois, But what of him ? 

Who cares for you and me ? 



42 The Thunderstorm 

Adela, Is he not mine — 

Mine by the law, mine by his vows? 

Lois, Yours — yours ! 

It would be funny, this fond claim of women — 
This mine and thine — if it were not so sad. 

Adela. Whose is he then ? 

Lois, Whose then is everyone? 

He is the world's — and God's. 

Adela, Not for your pleasure 

You try to steal away his soul from me. 
But for the world, and God ! 

Lois, His soul, say you ? 

I found it on the highway, beaten, robbed. 
And left for dead. Should I have passed it by 
With all who looked and passed? 

Adela, Samaritan ! 

Then it was charity that brought you here — 
Here to my house. 

Lois. Ah ! have you won the right 

To invoke the ancient laws? What long ob- 
servance 
Has made your house a temple ? Where is Ht 
Its altar fire ? 

Adela. I Ve done the best I could. 

Lois. 'T is not enough then. 

Adela. And should he do nothing ? 



The Thunderstorm 43 

He married me, he pledged his love to me, 
And I — poor fool — fancied the tale was over, 
And nothing left to tell but happiness. 
Alas ! the bride-flowers withered in my hands, 
Dried up and blew away like dust. My own. 
My right, the one thing bound to me, escaped 

me. 
I am lost in the huge world. 

Lois, You held him close 

To keep him for yourself who is for all. 
Where are the songs you should have bade him 

sing. 
The sons you should have borne him ? You 

denied him 
Life, that will never be denied. 

Jdela, Life — life! 

Was not the problem difficult enough 
Without all these ? Must I bear children too 
To tease my strength away ? I gave him all. 
And what he gave was but a residue — 
The little left through all the thievish days, 
When song and art and business and the world 
Had taken their plunder. And for even that 

little 
The women troop like hounds upon the trail. 
And I must watch in silence. 



44 The Thunderstorm 

Lois, Did you give ? 

Give more then. I, who find him in the pit. 
See not your gift upon him, and your voice. 
Calling, I do not hear. 

Adela, He will not take 

What I can give, and though I shriek aloud 
He hears me not. 

Lois. The shriek is your own woe, 

The gift a chain. 

Adela, And you would bid him break it — 
You and this questioning age, which undermines 
All that was sure in our unstable world. 
Oh, how I hate it all ! Hear now my word ! 
I honor more the creature on the street. 
Sinning for lust or greed, than her, the spotless. 
Whose delicate dalliance lures the souls of men 
And cheats the law. By what fine name soever 
You call it, what is this but your desire 
Unto my place ? 

Lois, Is it possible you read 

So ill the book of fate ? 

Adela, Even so I read it. 

Lois, Some things are locked away from hu- 
man hope ; 
Some things too distant are even for desire. 
Look at me ! I am one who stands aloof. 



The Thunderstorm 45 

If I have strength, ah, take it ! courage, use it ! 
Give him his own ! If I was born to love. 
With a heart big for life and death and sorrow. 
Learn of me, be what I shall never be ! 
You who have lived, fed upon joy and pain. 
Know you the agony of us who starve. 
Unrecognized by the strange eyes of God ? 
Here, like the ruined wreckage on the shore, 
I watch the mighty ocean bearing out 
Its fleets into the storm. I see the ship 
Steered to the rocks — the ship my soul would 

sail. 
And all my futile valor rots away 
Into the waste of life. 

Adela, It is your choice. 

Marry the man who wants you — leave to me 
My own. 

Lois, Enough of you and me ! The need. 
The longing and the dreams that meet in him 
Are his forever. Happier am I, 
Lonely, and free to give him all, than he 
Who blindly wove these meshes round his 

soul. 
Speechless, he looks at me with haggard eyes. 
And every joy my life has ever known 
Runs to his feet in tears. All that I am 



46 The Thunderstorm 

Is his — or yours — to serve him, and at last 
It will avail. 

Adela. Your plight puts mine to shame. 
My married love becomes a shabby thing 
Beside the heroic purple of your passion. 
I was not born to understand his ways, 
Dowered with your exquisite sympathy. So be it ! 
But yet I am his wife. When we are old 
We two will smile at the dim thought of you 
And make a tale of this. 

Lois, Oh, if it be 

A tale whose end is joy, I shall be glad 
Even in my solitude of life or death. 
If you will take my task, give him himself. 
Then has my love availed, and I may vanish 
Out of your lives forever. Be his wife — 
Is it not enough? Give all, and more, and 

more. 
As the warm sun gives to the longing earth. 
Then will you make a summer for his soul. 
And he will rise on wings into the light. 
And I shall be forgotten. Adela, 
'T is my last word to you, and, if you will, 
'T is your last thought of me : take from his 

life 
The need of me. 



The Thunderstorm 47 

Adela. I cannot — oh, I cannot ! 

I am too weak, too selfish, too afraid. 

{She weeps,) 
Why was I born ? 

Lois, Are you not here — beside him ? 

You must be strong to do it. 

Adela, I have failed. 

Better if I could give it up and die. 
The past is never over — nevermore 
May I begin again. 

[John Mather appears at the doorway, 
Adela observes him and runs out^ still pas- 
sionately weeping, Lois turns and sees 
hiniy and stands in silence^ while he ap- 
proaches and bows low, 
John, So — it is said. 

Lois, You never said it, though — thank 

you for that. 
John, What was the need ? Could I not see 

you knew it ? 
Lois, I knew it as the clover knows the 
bee. 
When he has flown, how may a poor flower 
know ? 
John, You doubted me ? 
Lois, I doubted my own joy. 



48 The Thunderstorm 

^ohn, "T is joy, then ? And I feared to bring 
you sorrow 
By loving you. 

Lois, Sorrow! Ifitbetrue 

There is no longer sorrow in the world. 

John, May I be glad then ? 

Lois, Listen — if to-morrow 

This wonder that you tell me is no more — 
For it must end — 

John, As ends the world — 

Lois, Remember — 

You need not grieve for me nor think of 

me. 
This hour is mine forever. 

John, Share with me ! 

Is it not ours forever ? 

Lois, 'T is as though 

I died now — you may rightfully forget. 

John, And put you in the grave. How 
cheerfully 
You bid me look upon the dark again ! 

Lois, All — all is yours. Remembering or 
forgetting, 
What difference? If I touch you as I pass — 

John, With plumy wings — 

Lois, If I but say a word. 



The Thunderstorm 49 

Surely my little utmost all is done. 
And you may make a song of it. 

John, It makes 

My life a song. 

Lois, Good-by now. 

John, Is it this — 

Your word ? 

Lois. Two words, the greatest in the world, 
I say to you — -J love you, and farewell. 
Are they not all ? 

John, Ah no — for there are deserts 

Where you and I would be a world. 

Lois, Ah no ! 

Too bright the sun is there — not to be borne. 
It would suffice too much. 

John, It would suffice. 

Lois, It would consume. If you were born, 
perhaps. 
To conquer, not escape — 

John, But here alone — 

See, do you find me conquering? 

Lois, 'T is done, 

Our little day, for greater days are come. 

\_She opens the broad screen-door. 
Look, where the storm fell black, now rides the 
moon. 



50 The Thunderstorm 

The thick rain all is over — nothing left 
But the rich wetness on the shining leaves, 
And all to-morrow's flowers. I do not fear 
To leave you. 

John, But I fear. 

Lois. Ah, where you are 

My life is — will you make me live in vain ? 
Come — to my heart ; and kiss me on the lips. 
My love, my lover ! ^ 

\^hey embrace. 

John. The great words you said 

I say them too — I love you, and farewell. 
We shall outrun desire and hope at last. 
And find each other somewhere in the light. 
When I have done your bidding. 'Tis the 

hour — 
Good-by. 

Lois, The east grows brave for me. Good- 
by. 

\She goes out. 



AT THE GOAL 



At the Goal 



Scene. — A bedroom exquisitely furnished with 
precious old furniture^ ^ugs, and hangings y and 
softly lit by a night lamp, and a woodfire 
burning on the broad hearth. A sick man, 
about fifty-five years old^ lies in bed motionless ^ 
half comatose. A woman of fifty ^ dressed as 
a nurse in a blue and white striped gown^ 
with broad white collar and long apron, sits 
looking in the fire. She rises as her patient 
stirs, and notes the change which comes over 
him. He opens his eyes, breathes less heavily^ 
and tries to lift himself a little. 



^he man. Turn up the lamp. That firelight 

flickers so, 
And shadows clutch at me. For hours and 

hours 
I have been flying — out under the moon ; 
And in my arms asleep were many children, 
The sons and daughters I have never known. 



54 A.T THE Goal 

It's queer — that billowy motion of the air — 
I almost sang against it in my joy 
To hold my sons at last. But then I fell — 
Fell back to this. Why did I hear out there 
A voice I have not thought of all these years, 
And see a face floating beyond the world ? 

l^he woman. The time has come. 

T^he man. Why do I talk so much ? 

" Close-mouthed as Drake," they say of me, 

but now 
Some busy little devil wags my tongue. 

'The woman. The silent years are speaking. 

l!he man. She was pretty — 

That country girl. I kissed her by the pool 
Down in the woods. I was a country boy — 
A baby ! And I vowed to go to town 
And work for her, and come and marry her. 
And all the usual thing. 

I^he woman. And she believed. 

'J!he man. What raptures we get over ! Do 
you know 
What it is to come to town ? 

'The woman. Do I not know? 

The man. Those black blows of the city on 
one's heart, 
Red-hot between them and the fire. The shock 



AttheGoal 55 

And agony and fright of it ! I felt 
Everything change. I died and was reborn 
Harder, more keen. The pitiless battering 
New-shaped me, and I took the shape and gave 
Thanks for the blows that struck a weapon out 
Fit for great wars. 

"The woman. And who should feel its edge 
Sooner than she? 

'The man. She ? — oh, that little past 

Where she was faded, dwindled, blew away. 

'The woman. You never took the trouble to 
strike her dead. 

The man. What man could think of woman 
when the roar 
Called him to battle ? Inch by inch I crept ; 
Yes, rank by rank I passed them, while the field 
Grew large around me. Men are fighters yet : 
In banks and shops and inner offices 
We wage the modern war. 

The woman. And women still 

Think you are lovers. 

The man. Love is made for those 

Who can get nothing else. 

The woman. Who ask naught else. 

The man. Love ! can love give to me the 
big round world 



56 AttheGoal 

To play ball with ? What lover's madness ever 
Can match that thrill that gathers in the brain 
And tingles in these aching finger-tips 
As one by one the mighty men go down 
And take their orders ? Have you ever heard 
The little fools who live because we let them 
Talk of the vanity of power ? 

^he woman, I prove 

Daily the vanity of all things. 

lOie man. Bosh ! 

Then you have never lived. 

'J^he woman. Millions like me 

Have never lived because just one like you 
Must play ball with the world. 

T!he man. Who moves the world. 

The million or the one ? Is it my strength. 
My single strength — good God ! The time is 

with me. 
Whispering, pushing, arming me — a spirit 
That will not be denied. What have I done ? 
Wrecked and remade, torn down and built 

again 
After the brave new plan. Let them beware 
Who stand against me, let them rot in sloth 
Who do not help me ! I have heard the 

voice — 
I care not for their railing. 



At theGoal 57 

ne woman. Heard the voice ; 

And won intolerable, unutterable 
Wealth by its bidding. 

I^he man. Won the good hard 

money — 
Powder and shot and rations, and the zeal 
Of the embattled armies. Money first. 
And then the rest for him who dares. 

T!he woman. No matter 

What wreckage and what cries. 

I^he man. No matter — no ! 

A redness at the dawn, a richer soil 
For the new harvest. 

"l^he woman. *T is no matter then 

Who falls. 

I^he man. Who are you to dispute with me. 
As though my youth stood here again, with all 
Unanswerable follies in his eyes ? 
Turn to the light — you with your stripes and 

apron. 
You nurse or prophetess. There is a mist 
That hides you, yet — Come closer, give me 

room. 
Who are you ? 

ne woman. One who never lived. 

T^he man. You are — 



58 At the Goal 

T'he woman, I am your past. 

"l^he man. And you are here. 

^he woman, I bring 

The lost things. 

'J!he man. Let them go ! 

T^he woman. They burden me. 

I give them back to you. 

'The man. Intolerable ! 

'The woman. Withered and shrunken, would 
you know them now — 
The lyric joy, the love, the modesty. 
The faith ; the beauty of the blossoming 

world — 
All June, all sunshine ? Would you know them 

now — 
The burden I have carried all these years ? 

'The man. How came you here ? 

The woman, I have been very patient. 

Because I knew that we should meet again. 

The man. You knew. 

The woman. Fate has denied me other 

things, 
But never that. 

The man, I think I must be dying. 

I must have tramped the whole big track 
around 



At the 'Goal 59 

To find you standing like a column there, 
Just where I started from. 

ne woman. Yes — you must die. 

l^he man. To-night ? 

T!he woman. Before the dawn. 

I^he man. And all is done — 

You have fought for me ? 

l!Jie woman. We fought and we are beaten. 
A Httle vivid hour is yours to think in — 
Then all is done. 

T!he man. Death. Now. Lord, what a mess 
they '11 make of it, 
Davis and Chalmers ! Call them ! 

'J!he woman. They are gone. 

T!he man. Damn them ! Could they not 
watch with me an hour ? 
Write then. 

'The woman (taking paper and pencil). Go on. 

*The man. Tell them to wait, keep cool. 

Tell them to let Wisconsin fall to nothing. 
And get control of it ; for we must have it 
To strengthen C. and O. Tell them — you 
hear me? — 

l^he woman, I follow you. 

l!he man. And in that copper deal 

They must be smooth and secret, soft as death. 



6o AttheGoal 

And let that fresh young fool keep up the 

game 
With his dead father*s millions. Blusterer ! 
He '11 find himself entangled in my nets. 
Then they can draw him in without a noise — 
Him and his properties. 

I^he woman. Can draw him in — 

"Hhe man. Tell them to draw the world in, 

for this age 
Is bigger than the world, and men are born 
Who shall own kings — yea, give them peace 

or war. 
And make the aging earth anew. Alas ! 
Have I been bold, and wasted not, nor spared. 
Stopping at nothing, heaping stone on stone 
To build a great colossus, only to leave it 
Undone and insecure ? Tell them — good 

Lord! 
They cannot do it. What *s the use of them 
When I am gone? Cold wheels without the 

fire 
To move them. Do not write. Give me the 

paper. 

\He tears it to pieces. 
What incoherent fragments death will make 
Of all my plans ! 



AttheGoal 6i 

'The woman. And none will know nor care. 

The man. The imbecile, satiric, thankless 
world 
Will go its way without me. 

The woman. And forget you. 

The man. It shall not. On the gates of 
hospitals 
My name is carved in stone. Millions of mine 
Shall build a mighty palace of the arts. 
Where I walked flowers will grow. 

The woman. The people's treasure — 

The spoil of purchased laws and managed 

markets. 
Restored a little after many years. 

The man. Bah ! Have you naught to say of 
states enriched. 
Deserts made habitable, men employed ? 
Open your eyes — one mind, even to-day, 
May find a world and give it to the race ; 
And such as you would stop the work with 

scruples — 
Cobwebs no brave man sees. 

The woman. And such as I 

Would bid the brave man cast away the world 
And save his soul. 

The man. His soul must take its chance. 



62 AttheGoal 

T^he woman. Be honest, then. Give it the 
truth to carry- 
Up to the throne of God. Stand by your life, 
And drop the hospitals and galleries — 
The lies. 

T^he man. The playthings. I who work with 
fate 
Must have immortals for my playfellows. 
I love these lovely things. I make them mine. 
I rest in them. 

"l^he woman. Yours ! yours to take and give ! 
They were not, are not yours — that is the 
lie. 

I'he man. The lie — -the truth! An evenly 
balanced world 
You make of it. The truth — the lie ! 

ne woman. Well? 

^he man. Well — 

There is no absolute — not here. 

l!he woman {looking about). Not here. 

'T^he man. The truth, the pure uncompro- 
mising truth — 
What man would know it ? 

T^he woman. Not another hour 

Is given to you to turn and face the truth, 
Blinding, destroying. 



At t h e G o al 63 

"The man. Not another hour — 

It is too short. 

l!he woman. It is enough. 

T^ht man. Perhaps 

If I had married you — there in my youth. 
We should have tried to face it. 

'The woman. Can you feel 

That other life ? 

The man. We might have done great things. 

The woman. Together — for the world. 

The man. If you had loved me. 

It might have been. 

The woman. If I had loved ! 

The man. The truth ! — 

This is revenge, not love. 

The woman. If I had loved — 

The man. As woman must who saves her 
world — the love 
Unspeakable, enduring. 

The woman, I have sorrowed. 

The man. Wept for the renegade, perhaps. 
My name, 
Looming so large of late, has made you dream 
Down in your quiet place. But now to-night 
You face me with an eye as free as mine. 
The glamour all has faded. You are glad. 



64 AttheGoal 

^he woman. You blind and buffet me. I do 
not know, 

The man. Time — time is given you. I who 
sweat and pant 
Wave but a dusty banner as I pass — 

'The woman. Into the distance. 

The man. When the long dark ride 

Is over, shall I find you at the goal 
Again ? 

The woman. I have not loved — I do not 
know. 

The man. Wait — I shall look for you. 

The woman. We are two braggarts — 

Two miserable creatures who have failed. 

The man. Then here 's to better luck on the 
next course ! 
Shall I go on ? 

The woman. Is there no more ? 

The man. Where is she ? 

The woman. She waits my summons — *tis 
the modern way. 

The man. She fears ? 

The woman. She weeps and trembles. 

The man. Do not call her. 

The exquisite, soft, feminine, brilliant thing — 
She is for life, not death. 



AttheGoal 65 

I'he woman. And I for death. 

I^he man. Take heart. You who have seen 
so many die — 
Live now. 

I^he woman, I who have seen so many die 
For the first time see death. 

I^he man. Like a great river 

It washes over me. 

'The woman. Hold fast. 

T^he man. So — So — 

Give me your hand. Now I can wait a little. 
See — do you smell the clover? 

I^he woman. It is over — 

The little vivid hour. 

'T^he man. So cool and sweet ! 

Come to the fields — \He dies, 

'The woman, I cannot ! oh, I cannot ! 

[The woman throws herself on her knees 
beside the couch, her arms stretched over 
the form of the man. After a time she 
slowly rises ; closes the eyes, disposes the 
arms, smooths sheets and pillows, and after 
a close long look in the face passes out. 



AFTER ALL 



After All 



Scene. — A pathway in hell. On the right snow- 
drifts^ on the left the lake of fire, A few 
spirits are half visible. 

Chorus of Spirits, 

See them coming — 

Flakes that drift. 
Ashen mists 

That shift and lift. 
Shaken off, 

Ghosts of pain, 
Down from earth 

They fall like rain. 

Room for the lost ! — 
There 's room in hell. 

Damned and tossed 
With curse and knell, 

Spewed from earth. 
Refused in heaven, 



70 AfterAll 

Hail to the lost, 

By torments driven ! 

Lo ! who Cometh ? — 

Wise was he. 
The last fine secret 

He would see. 
Alone, aloof 

From life and care. 
He spun his cobwebs 

In the air. 

Hush and wonder ! 

One hath risen 
To greet this wisp. 

So blanched and wizen : 
She who tore 

Her soul in two, 
Who dared the utmost 
Life may do. 
\^he spirits of a man and a woman meet. 
She, Ah— you! 
He, Yea, I. 

She, How did you come ? 

He, I slipped like sleet adown the wind. 
She, You from your heights. 



AfterAll 71 

He, The dry years thinned 

My soul. It grew too cold and numb 
For earth. 

She, So high and still you were * 

I used to think you need not stir 
To enter paradise. 

He. And now 

The dry snow sifts me, and my brow 
Chills the dark wind. 

She. And I in flame 

Bathe my hot wounds away. 

He. At last 

We who have lost may know the game. 

She. Yea, we who missed the fateful cast, 
Faltering when the angel passed. 
May count his footsteps one by one 
Down to our earth, back to his sun. 

He. And we who never spake before 
May utter pallid words. 

She. And we 

Whose wind-drawn senses feel no more, 
May tell the ruinous heart-throbs o*er 
That beat us down this bitter path. 

He. We — pale inheritors of wrath, 
Who might be treading, hand in hand. 
Spaces afoam with wings. 



72 AfterAll 

She, If you. 

That day when God was with us two. 
Had given me the supreme command. 

He, If you had stood less proudly there 
Against the sun, had seemed aware 
Of the desire that did not dare. 
She, I who dared all ! 
He. If the red lips. 

That smiled, had trembled once. If even 
One quiver of the finger-tips 
Had proved you woman — 

She. If like a man 

You had torn the veil — 

He. We blurred God's plan 

Rust on the shining rim of heaven. 
Chorus of Spirits. 

Come and see them 

Cringe and cower — 
Fools who missed 

The perfect hour! 
Dumb and blind. 

To them was given 
Light, love, joy, 

A glimpse of heaven. 
In the full day 
They lost the way. 



Aft E R All 73 

Spurn them, laugh at them — 
Saints astray! 

She. I saw the open gates that morning. 
Heard seraph songs. 

He, I felt the warning — 

From heaven to hell measured the fall. 

She, We looked in the archangel's eyes 
And dared not follow. 

He, We are here. 

She, How swiftly fell that black surprise ! 
I saw you not, and over all 
A thick doubt grew, a foggy fear. 

He. I turned and made me over-wise 
With learning, called the loss of you 
By the fond name of sacrifice ; 
And in my solitudes again 
Dreamed I might find the truth for men. 

She, And I wandered the dark world 
through, 
Driven by that reckless need of love 
Which maddens women. 

He. While above 

All need I urged my flattered soul. 

She, I drank the cup of drunkenness. 
And lo, it cursed that could not bless — 
Another woman's joy I stole. 



74 After All 

He. Yea, when the uproar came to me, 
I marveled that such fire could be 
In one who seemed so cold. 

She, You lit 

The fire. 

He. If I had nourished it. 
Out of my cold philosophy 
It would have driven the chill. 

She. Ah me ! 

Then the great fame you made — 

He. Will die. 

My truth was but another lie. 
I had not lived, I could not know. 

She. My bliss was but another woe. 
Strained to my heart it turned to stone; 
And when God bade me let it go 
I would not, though it dragged me prone 
Down to these fires that melt it not 
Where on my breast heavy and hot 
It lies. 

He. Hush ! do you hear the cries 
Hurled from the wrath that never dies ? 

Chorus of Spirits. 

In winds of fire and sleet 

Whirl on forever! 
Never to part nor meet. 
Forgetting never. 



AfterAll 75 

When the great ghosts wheel down 

Cringe ye and cower ! 
Who chose the fiery crown 
Shall wield the power. 
Make way ! make way ! — 
Intruders gray ! 
Slip through the drear shades 
As ye may ! 
Flee in fear ! 
Come not near ! 
Slaves ! eternally 
Shift and veer ! 
He. Warped and twisted and bent are we — 
Dried hopes blown down the vales of pain. 
She. Hush ! do you hear that sound like 
rain 
Of falling souls ? Look, do you see ? 
He. And one with lightning armed ? 
She. Ah me ! 

I know him, he has passed me by. 

He. Flee from the whirlwind ! Dive and 

fly! 
She. Down ! down ! I hear you not. The 
gale 
Blackens around me. 

He. Lo, I fail ! 



76 AfterAll 

Chorus of Spirits {approaching). 
Somewhere or other 

The mad world is spinning. 
Our game now another 

Gay crowd is beginning. 
Ha, ha ! they will botch it. 

For God has control. 
We nip it and notch it — 

He plays for the whole. 

He rumbled and grumbled — 

We would not give ear. 
Our power he has humbled 

By pitching us here. 
Since heaven is not for us 

And earth 's but a fool — 
Since either would bore us 

In hell let us rule ! 



A MODERN MINUET 



Modern Minuet 



Scene. — A small room opening into a dancing hall 
in a modern town house^ where a costume 
party is going on. I^he room is furnished in 
eighteenth century style y and a young man and 
womany dressed in costumes of ^een Anne's 
time, are discovered alone, 'The music of a 
dance is dimly heard, 

Althea, Ah no, I cannot hear, how dare you 
tell 
Your tale in prose, my lord ? 

Roderick, Is it not well 

To speak the truth, even though a maid be fair 
And royally appareled? 

Althea, Look, we wear 

The Addisonian livery. Let our speech 
Ripple with rhymes and flatteries, I beseech. 
Why have we shpped the iron leash of time, 



8o A Modern Minuet 

Escaped out of the real, save to climb 

The trimmed and velvet slopes where maids 

and men 
May play at passion ? 

Roderick, Let me pledge you then 

A flowery love. A garden is my heart, 
Planted with rose trees set with formal art 
Between green hedges. There you come like 

spring. 
Bidding me bloom while all the sweet birds sing. 

Althea, And the red rose half open in its 
bud — 
Is that for me ? 

Roderick, Take my life's richest blood, 

Crimson, deep-scented. 

Althea, Lo, the white one there ! 

Roderick, 'Tis my new hope greeting the 
sunny air. 
Breathe gently, lest thou sweep its petals frail 
Down the chill wind. 

Althea, May a chill wind prevail 

In your fair garden ? 

Roderick, Fickle is the May, 

Proud, merciless. Look — if she smiles to-day 
To-morrow come the darkness and the storm. 

Althea, To-morrow is not, never is. When 
warm 



A Modern Minuet 8i 

Shines the sweet sun through the soft sifted air 
Who counts the thunders ? 

Roderick, When the sun shines fair 

He who stands tiptoe on the peak of rapture 
Thrills with sharp pain because no dream can 

capture 
Another moment so divine. 

Althea, Which proves 

How foolish 'tis to think. The soul that loves 
Tears the pale web of thought, the theories 
Whose thick and twisted wisdom once was his 
Before the light burst in. 

Roderick, The loving soul 

Fashions a doubt out of each dream's control. 
An agony out of each bHss denied. 

Althea. But who can gauge a bliss till it be 
tried, 
Or of the most adventurous dream beware 
Till he has leashed it winging in mid-air ? 

Roderick, Such reckless valor ne'er moved 
mortal man 
As mine were if I dared the space to span 
'Twixt me and my desire. 

Althea, When man dares not 

The gods blot out a planet from the spot 
Where it should wheel around some star's bright 
seat. 



82 A Modern Minuet 

Roderick, Ah give me then the universe com- 
plete ! 

[He falls on one knee and kisses her hand, 
Althea, Nay, nay — beware ! Your lady*s 
finger-tip 
Takes not the homage of the eye and lip. 
Roderick, Set me some task ! The sword 
rusts at my side. 
Bid me through dark wars cleave a pathway wide. 
Althea, Life is but war — the field awaits the 
brave. 
Rise and go forth to conquer and to save. 
Roderick. But ere I rise — a gauge ! — lest I 
return 
Spent, wounded, and you know me not, and 

spurn 
The world-worn warrior from your palace gate. 
\_She unclasps and hands him a bracelet, 
Althea, Take then this bauble. On my pulse 
it sate 
Counting the heartbeats. Lo, I wait unfriended 
Till the brave fight be won, the trial ended. 
Roderick (rising). And if a century or two 
should fling 
Their spell about us ere once more I bring 
This token to your feet, if the bold world 



A Modern Minuet 83 

Should down the zones of change be madly 

whirled 
Into a dumb and unromantic day. 
Then should I find my lady waiting? — say! 
Plain words upon her lips, her gown unquilted. 
Her hair of nature's gold, her manners wilted 
Into a democrat simplicity — 
Then would she know me, though my garments 

be 
No longer silken, though my head emerge 
Out of this snowy coil — yea, though I urge 
An homely suit and pledge a workman's hand. 
Without the sword in 't ? Would she understand 
Though all else change, my heart is hers for- 
ever ? 
Althea, Ah, if time plods through centuries 
when we sever 
*T is but his custom, for whene'er we meet, 
After long ages lost and incomplete. 
The world seems made anew. 

Roderick, Let it be ours — 

That glad new world, its rush of glowing hours ! 
There let us laugh at time and all the slaves 
Who creep through sunless paths into dark 

graves 
BHnd, unaware of love. Sweet, do you love me? 



84 A Modern Minuet 

Ahhea, Hush ! — by the stars that speak the 
truth above me, 
How dare you strain our airy rhymes and lies 
With that great word ? 

Roderick, Tell me then with your eyes, 

Truer than stars. In any way you please 
Tell me you love me. Tell me, or I seize 
From your shut lips the pledge. 

Althea, Would you not scorn 

A patched and powdered promise ? 

Roderick, Hearts are sworn 

In every livery, and the pledges spoken 
Under a mask are not more lightly broken 
Than plain vows clad in rags. 

Althea, Ah, give me time — 

A century or two whose rush sublime 
Shall blast this florid world and make a new one. 
Better for simple souls to work and woo on. 
Before the sun climbs out of yonder lake. 

Roderick, A century or two for your sweet 
sake 
Is but an hour. Devoutly will I wait. 
Your knight kneeling till dawn in lonely state. 
Ere from his love he hears the high command 
That puts his valor to the proof. 

Althea, The band 



A Modern Minuet 85 

Ripples a minuet. Before that change — 
That leap of time out of this narrow range, 
That sudden sun-burst o'er a world awake — 
Shall we not tread a lordly measure, take 
A proud farewell of the dear vanities ? 

Roderick, For that or any walk in life you 
please. 
My hand is yours. 

Althea, Come ! with your hand in mine. 

No road too rough is and no stage too fine. 

\^hey make the minuet how and courtesy^ and 
go out hand in hand, taking the minuet 
step in time to the music. 



IT PASSES BY 



PERSONS OF THE PLAT. 

Dr. Merrill. 
Richard Blake. 
Harold Humphrey. 

Isabel Everett. 
Ellen Rathbourne. 
Kate Doane. 
Ida Doane. 
Phcebe Everett. 



It Passes By 



Scene. — Front drawing-room of a town house 
facing a broad avenue ; a beautiful and home- 
like room^ full of color, furnished with taste 
and elegance but without great richness. 
Hexagonal triple window at rear of stage 
gives to the street. Fireplace with low fire 
at right ; at left, double doorway from the 
hally with doors rolled away and porti}res 
drawn back. Partly visible through it, at 
the end of the hall outside, is the front door, 
giving also to the street down a flight of 
steps. One or two elms are visible through 
the windows, their leaves browning and fall- 
ing under the warm October sunshine ; be- 
yond them, across the street, the dim row of 
houses, 

A little girl of five or six has thrown 
her doll face downward on a chair, and 



go It Passes By 

stands at the window looking out, A hand- 
some woman of about thirty-jive y her mother ^ 
enters from the halL 

Phcebe, What are they doing, mother ? 
Isabel (without noting), I don't know. 

Fhoebe, But look — so many people — 
Isabel {searching the tables for something). 

Never mind. 
Come here, and help me. 

Phoebe. Won't they go away ? 

Isabel, I think so, dear. Where can it be ? 

He had it — 
Phcebe. There 's a policeman. Is a circus 

coming ? 
Isabel, What are you saying ? 
Phoebe {running across and dragging at her 
mother s skirts). May I stay and see it? 
Look, mother, may I ? 

Isabel {following to the window). What a 
crowd, my robin ! 
All down the street — no end to them — I 

wonder 
Why they are here. 

Phcebe. Is it a circus then ? 

And will there be gold chariots ? 



I T Pass e s B y gi 

Isabel {sitting and lifting the child to her knee). 

Little one, 
Mother knows nothing, nothing any more — 

Fhcehe, But why ? 

Isabel, All day and night, two days and 
nights. 
Father has suffered so ! 

Phoebe, Why don't you whisper ? 

Isabel, My darling must be still again to-day. 
Still as a baby birdling in its shell. 
And by and by, when something happens 

there. 
Out in the street, she must not run upstairs, 
Nor call to mother — 

Phoebe. Must I stay alone ? — 

Here all alone ? 

Isabel, Dolly is waiting here. 

Dolly will play with you. 

Phoebe, But she is tired. 

Isabel, And all the people and the horses 
there 
To look at — 

Phoebe, Who will tell me ? 

Isabel, And perhaps — 

If you watch quietly, some one may come. 

PhoBbe. Who? 



92 ItPassesBy 

Isabel, Let me think. Perhaps your newest 
friend — 
Your Mr. Blake. 

Ph(sbe. Oh, will he ? 

Isabel, Or perhaps — 

Look there ! some one is coming. Do you 
see? 
Fhoebe [springing out of her mother* s lap and 

clapping her hands). Miss Ellen ! 
Isabel. Run and welcome her — so softly — 
Still as a sunbeam — 

[fThe child runs and opens the door^ admit- 
ting Ellen Rathbourne, a young woman 
of twenty-five or twenty-six^ who catches 
her up in her arms, 
Ellen. Darling ! 

Fhcebe, You must whisper — 

Father is ill. 

Ellen, Isabel, is it true ? 

Isabel, These two days. 
Ellen, Oh, what is it ? 

Isabel. Pain — pain. 

Ellen, You do not fear ? 
Isabel, No — no ! — but it is hard 

To see a strong man suffer. 

Ellen. Go to him — 



It Passes By 93 

Leave her with me. The soldiers, Phoebe mine. 
Soon we shall see their banners down the street. 

Fhcebe. And bands ? — and will they march ? 

Isabel, What is it then — 

This crowd ? 

Ellen, The governor — have you forgot ? 
This morning the procession passes here. 

Isabel, I had forgotten utterly. 

Ellen, He goes 

In state to his last rest — his first and last. 

Isabel, He had his foot upon the White 
House stair 
When the grave opened. 

Ellen, Do you think in heaven 

He finds the fairest mansion half so fair? * 

Isabel, He loved the fat old earth. 

Ellen, I saw him once — 

Isabel, I felt him once — that day he spoke 
for Grant 
In the convention, when the galleries 
Went mad with cheers. 

Ellen, And now how suddenly — 

Isabel, The ladder breaks with him ! 

Phoebe, I hear a drum. 

Ellen, See how they crowd ! The yard, the 
steps — 



94 ItPassesBy 

Phoebe, Look, mother ! 

I hear a drum. 

Isabel. Far, far away, my brown one. 

What do you see ? 

Phcebe. So many people waiting. 

Isabel. And something down the street ? 

Phcebe. It shines Hke silver. 

Isabel. Soldiers, with banners. Watch until 
it grows 
Into an army. Ellen, have you heard — 
Tell me before I leave you — have you 

heard 
Richard is here again ? 

Ellen. Why — yes. But why 

The shadow in your voice, my Isabel ? 
Do you imagine that his name can still 
Set my least nerve a-tremble ? 

Isabel. Oh, I know, — 

Yet somehow, so irrational am I, 
I catch myself regretting it is over. 

Ellen. Well, it is over. 

Isabel. Years of sun and wind. 

Out in that Arizona wilderness, 
Have stamped him like a monumental rock 
With ruggedness. 

Ellen. I laughed at his white hands ! 



It Pass es B y 95 

Isabel. And the fierce colors of those arid 
wastes — 
Those deep, eternal, terrifying colors. 
Stringing the earth with jewels mountain-high — 
He makes me think of them. 

Ellen. Colors of death ! 

So will the earth harden and bake at last. 
When we are gone with all our lives and loves. 
Why will you talk of dead things ? Do those 

drums 
Muffle your thoughts like shrouds ? 

Isabel. Are you not hard ? 

Ellen. You married women ! tell me why 
it is 
That everything is nothing to you. Queer ! 
A man may jilt a woman, throw her over 
For any base entanglement, and then 
The best of you will plead for him. 

Isabel. Oh, Ellen — 

Do you dare judge by deeds ? What a man 

does 
Is accident — so cramped are human lives. 
Great souls go blundering on, even to the 

heights. 
While we stand shuddering at the dismal fields 
They struggled through and passed. 



96 ItPassesBy 

Ellen, He would not send 

A messenger — why do you say these things ? 

Isabel, For love of you. 

Ellen, You do not know me then. 

There is no ember of that old fire left. 
When chance brings us together we shall meet 
Without emotion. 

Isabel. If it were to-day ? 

Ellen, To-day, to-morrow, or beyond the 
last 
Of all the morrows. 

Phcebe. See that soldier there. 

Riding against the people — will he kill them ? 

Isabel. I hope not — he 's the marshal mak- 
ing room. 

Phcebe, What for ? 

Ellen. For a great conqueror. 

Phoebe, \ A giant ? 

Ellen, Yes, one who stalks between us and 
the sun 
With little winks for eyes that see too clear. 

Phcebe, I don*t like giants. 

Ellen, Even when they are kind ? 

Phcebe, See Mr. Humphrey pushing through 
the crowd. 
And Miss Doane — see them ! 



I T Pas s e s B y 97 

Ellen {waving and smiling out of the window). 
They can scarcely move. 
Three more guests, Isabel : they 're coming in. 
Or trying to. 

Isabel. Then you shall play the hostess. 

To-day I cannot see them — I must go. 

Ellen. Leave all to me, and do not give a 
thought 
Either to Phoebe, or the invading world. 
They shall be mine to-day. 

[Isabel throws her arms about Ellen's neck 
an instant^ then goes out at left and runs 
upstairs. 
Phcebe. But will he come 

On horseback ? 

Ellen. Patience, darling. Who can tell ? 

The marshal cantered by. 

The great drum-major came ; 
The soldiers too 
In coats of blue. 
The guns with hearts of fiame. 

And all the world said — why ? 
And all the world said — where ? 

We carry just 

A peck of dust 
Out to the garden there. 



98 ItPassesBy 

Phoebe, Say it again. 

Ellen, Nay, Phoebe, nevermore. 

The gilded horseman jumps. 
The big policeman thumps, 
The people stand like stumps 
And will not budge them — 
See, they are coming — pushing up the steps. 
And you and I must give them the best place 
And be polite as princes. Let them in. 
And I will bring the chairs — 

[Phoebe runs to the front door again and opens 
ity admitting Kate and Ida Doane, and 
Harold Humphrey. Ellen brings chairs 
to the windows^ humming in time to the 
drums. 

We carry just 
A peck of dust 
Out to the garden there. 

Here — take the box. 
One moment, and we ring the curtain up. 
Kate, These hoHdays ! what can you do with 
them? 
I meant to hide from this, take refuge in 
Some innocent excitement — hemming sheets, 
Playing the mandolin, or reading through 
That artless tale of Mrs. Ward's. But no — 



ItPassesBy 99 

This youth was so unutterably bored 
By one day*s exile from the daily grind. 
He vowed to spend the morning, stay to lunch- 
eon, 
And otherwise afflict us. It was then 
I grasped at this procession, and was saved 
To share him with you. 

Harold, She can tell the truth 

Weil — once a year at least. Of course you 

know 
How shrewd are her devices to conceal 
The sweet affection that she cannot choose 
But give me. 

Kate, Whose affection? 

Harold, On my soul 

I have forgotten, though there was a time 
When pity made me weep to think of it. 

Kate, Your only tear, and may she never 
know ? 

Ida, They will talk nonsense, even at funerals. 
Phoebe and I are honest ; we are here 
To see the show. We shall not miss a flag. 

Fhcehe, But no one tells me. 

Ellen {grandiloquently). Now the beat of 
drum 
Rhymes with the tramp of armies. Row on row 



LofC. 



lOO I T Pass es B y 

The gleaming cohorts, like a summer sea. 
Roll on in waves that sparkle to the sun. 
Now the furled flag, the sad obsequious dirge. 
The muzzled guns, mighty with memories. 
Bear to its port a life. Look, ere 't is gone. 
Interpret, lest it glide into the past 
Unheralded. 

\frhe drums are passing the house, rolling a 
slow and solemn march at the head of the 
procession. Soon they grow slowly fainter, 
Kate, A prologue to this play ! 

Ellen, A prologue, Harold of the ready 
tongue. 
This bark, that dims beyond our narrow verge, 
What was it when it rode the swelling seas 
And took the gales with joy ? 

Harold, What was it not ? 

A shifty ship, built to be serviceable 
In any kind of traffic. Once a coaster. 
That hugged the shore of politics, nor dared 
Venture beyond three fathoms lest it sink. 
A transport then, carrying back and forth 
Opinions, purposes, adapted to 
The popular demand, and sold so cheap 
No man need care if they were worn a day 
And thrown away the next. A privateer. 



It Passes By ioi 

That took the chance of war to make a show 
And win the prize of glory. Then, grown bold, 
A slaver next, dealing in gangs of voters. 
Chained, labeled for delivery at the polls. 
Ready-made freemen. Last, perhaps a pirate. 
Slashing for power, be the flag friend or foe. 
And winning it, only to fall at last 
There within sight of golden pinnacles — 
The city of his dream. 

[In speaking y Harold advances from the win- 
dow, Ellen follows. 

Ellen, If this is all 

Why did the people love him ? 

Harold, Blank the people! 

Why are the people fools ? 

Ellen, If this is all 

Why do we bow when he goes by to-day, 
And feel a sudden dimness at the eyes 
To see death beating him ? 

\_She sinks into an arm-chair standing with its 
hack toward the hall and window. 

Harold, I cannot tell. 

The feminine mind should never roam at large 
To shift the planets from their courses. 

Ellen, Yet 

Why are you here if this is all ? 



102 It Passes By 

Harold. Compulsion, 

And a deep joy in dirges. 

Phoebe, See the flag ! 

Why don't they let it wave ? 

Harold (returning to the window). Precisely 

— why ? 

Why do they furl it up in crape, I wonder. 
When you and I would rather see it float ? 
Phoebe, Listen ! {A pause,) It 's solemn, 
is n't it ? 
[Kate suddenly looks frightened and nses 
from the window-seat^ signing to Ida for 
silence. She takes Harold by the arm and 
quietly leads him to front of stage. Ellen 
remains in her chair ^ her head in her hand 

— dreaming, 

Kate, Good heavens ! 

What shall we do ? 

Harold, Don't scare a man to death J 

Do about what ? 

Kate, Did n't you see him ? 

Harold, Whom ? 

Kate. Why, Richard Blake. 

Harold, What, back again ? 

Kate, Oh yes — 

Two days ago — but coming in — 



It Passes By 103 

Harold, Why not ? 

Kate, Have you forgotten how he went 
away ? 

Harold, What do you mean ? 

Kate, Oh, give away your brains 

If you can't use them ! You forget already 
That he and Ellen Rathbourne were engaged 
Five or six years ago, that he forsook her 
For some low creature, and when that was over 
Fled to the wilds ? 

Harold, Oh yes, I do remember. 

Kate, Indeed ! Well — think again. What 
shall we do ? 

Harold, Do nothing. 

Kate, But she has not seen him since. 

He will come in — she should be spared — 

Harold, Oh, pshaw ! 

She has to meet him sometime — why not now ? 
Now — to the sound of dirges, and the tramp 
Of fate's inexorable armies ? — Hush ! 
Now is the time. Don't interfere with chance. 
Who has her plans, deeper than yours or mine. 
If we are summoned here as witnesses 
Be grateful in all humbleness, 

Kate, I own 

The pride of sex. If she should pale before him, 



I04 It Passes By 

So much as tremble, all the woman in me 

Would feel defeated. 

Harold, Put her to the test — 

Else there 's no triumph. 

Phcebe {at the window). There 's the doctor 
coming. 

I '11 let him in. 

[She runs to the door, 
Harold, Besides, it is too late. 

[Ellen rises from her revery^ throwing her 
arms up wide and her head back ; and 
turns slowly toward the door, Kate and 
Harold turn and face the door, Ida 
stands quietly at the window. Enter Dr. 
Merrill, a man of fifty ^ and Richard Blake, 
about thirty^ of powerful athletic build ^ 
his fair skin bronzed by exposure, Richard 
shows the least possible trace of emotion 
at seeing Ellen. T^he Doctor, a few feet 
in advance^ extends his hand to Ellen, 
who greets him first with perfect aplomb. 
No one seems embarrassed, Harold and 
Kate go toward the hall to meet Richard, 
as he stands, hat in hand, beside the por- 
tiere, I'he drums sound faint in the dis- 
tance^ to the north — left. 



It Passes By 105 

Ellen, Good morning, Doctor. Your benig- 
nant smile 
Shines on the just and unjust, like the sun. 
You bring a rover with you. Mr. Blake, 
You and the sun are comrades. 

Kate {to Harold). Look at her ! 

She does it well. 

[Ellen extends her hand to Richard indiffer- 
ently^ and he takes it an instant^ bowing 
low in silence, 
Harold, Of course she does. (^0 Richard.) 
It 's good 
To see you here again. How is the West? 
You wear its colors bravely. You have changed. 
What is the city like after these years ? 

Richard, An orchestra, playing a banging 
tune 
Into incredible silence. 

Kate, Music then ? 

Richard, Intricate harmonies — my ear has 
lost 
The clue. 

Ellen {to the Doctor). Your patient, is it 

serious ? 
Dr, M, {taking off his overcoat). A little 
troublesome, but not alarming. 



io6 I T Passes By 

These youngsters trust this Indian summer day. 
But I must put my faith in coats. The host- 
ess ? 

Ellen, You are the only guest she sees to-day. 

Dr, Merrill, Who entertains the world. 
Look at that stoop ! 
If this young athlete had not struck for me 
I should be digging yet. 

Ellen, Such patient crowds ! 

Dr. M. A mighty funeral ! 

Kate, Is it not a pity 

He could not live to see it ? 

Harold, The last act 

Of a long gaudy melodrama. 

Br, M, Listen ! 

How easily does youth dispose of him. 
Who played so large a role ! At least admit 
He took the stage and held it, even dared 
Try to be president. 

Harold, Yes, died of scheming. 

Dr, M, At any rate he did things. Come, 
confess — 
How long since you have voted ? 

Harold, I refuse 

To chronicle my virtues to the shame 
Of this most blatant pohtician. 



It Passes By 107 

Dr, M, Then — 

Tell tne — whom shall we nominate next June 
Instead of him ? 

Harold, Some farmer from the plough, 

Or yoUj or me, or yonder officer. 
Who rides so like a turkey. 

Br, M, It will be 

Strange not to hear his voice or shout his 

name. 
The galleries will miss him. 

Harold, Yes, their hero. 

Dr, M, Well, there is work to do even now. 
I leave 
With you his reputation. 

[The Doctor, who has been retreating to- 
ward the door, followed by Kate and 
Harold, now goes out and upstairs, 
Richard approaches Ellen, whom Phoebe 
is trying to drag to the window, and speaks 
to her, quite indifferent as to whether the 
others hear him or not, A brass band, 
playing a dirge, begins to be audible in 
the distance from the south, 
Richard, I have come 

Three thousand miles to have a talk with you. 
I am persuaded you will not refuse. 



io8 It Passes By 

Five years of thinking make me sure at last 
That it is right to see you. * 

Ellen. I will hear 

What you may say, though you mistake, I think, 
To be so sure. 

Richard, Tell me the place — the time. 

Ellen, It must be here and now. 
Harold (aside to Kate — looking at Richard). 

Look at them now ! 
Kate {smiling). Don't you think we can see 
better outdoors ? 
Such a fine dirge is coming, and beyond 
The regulars — the guns ! 

Harold, Yes, let us join 

The brave unwashed, beg them for standing- 
room. 
And be good socialists. 

[Exeunt Harold and Kate, to the front 
steps, Ida rises from the window seat, 
Fhcebe, May I go too? 

Miss Ellen, may I ? 

Ellen, Go take care of them. 

[^hceht pirouettes gleefully^ seizes Ida by the 
handy and they go out. 'J'heyy the crowded 
steps, the street^ etc., are remotely visible 
through the open door. 



It Passes By 109 

Richard, Well — after all it is a little thing 
I have to tell you, and it matters not 
Where it is spoken. It is due to you. 
Whom I so greatly wronged, that I should say 
You are the only woman in the world 
For me, and will be always. 

Ellen, Do you think 

I value your regard ? 

Richard, No, not to-day, 

Nor can you yet believe in it. Perhaps 
You will not ever. Yet it is the truth. 
And such small reparation as may lie 
In such a truth I offer you. 

Ellen. In time 

I may have faith in you again, but now 
This seems an insult. 

Richard, Leave it then to time. 

Or else forget it. I am going back — 
Back to the desert. There is one thing more 
That should be said, and yet I know not how 
To say it. You are strong ; you have no fear, 
Nor any need of service. If life hurts — 
You will close with it and conquer. Yet at last. 
Some day when you are weary of your strength. 
When all the hour fails, and the past alone 
Looks fair and sure, you may be willing then 



no It Passes By 

To think of me as longing for a chance 

To serve you, even the slightest ; you may 

speak 
Thus to your heart : This man, to whom I 

gave 
My first young foolish ardor, he who vowed 
To love me always ahd betrayed the vow. 
It seems that he has kept it after all 
And somewhere on the earth he lives for me. 

Ellen, How strange! — to see you there, to 
hear your voice 
Uttering promises, just as of old. 
And yet to feel no faith ! 1 did not know 
The past lay dead so deep that you, even you. 
Would seem a ghost to me. 

\^he music of the dirge grows louder in the 
street, 

Richard, And yet to me 

It is the only thing alive. For me 
The summer blooms there always, and the storm 
That wrecked it once has faded into light. 
I cannot tell how lovely is the place. 
How rich, how still. 

Ellen, The light that never was ! 

Richard, It is the garden of my life. To you 
Whatever fruits may grow ! 



It Passes By hi 

Ellen. Will it be sweet — 

The fruit of dead hopes and corrupted lives ? 
Why do you lead me toward the place of death 
I fled from long ago ? 

Richard, But it is gone. 

Life out of death, bloom out of decay — 
So runs the law. Alone there on the plains. 
By night and day, under the sun and stars. 
The law has driven me — the offended law. 
Armed with its vengeance. And I fled — fled 

— fled — 
Afraid to look. Gaunt summer buried me 
Deep in dry storms, the livid winter rode 
Stiff at my side, and still I was afraid. 
Still I could hear the clatter and the cry 
Behind me. Well — at last I clutched my fear 
And turned. Behold, the thing that followed 

me 
Was love. How strangely beautiful it was — 
Austere and fair ! A stillness grew around me. 
Then the vast world came close, the mighty hills 
Drew near and clasped me, even the bright 

white moon 
Laid her cool hand upon me. And I knew 
The sorrow all had vanished, and the joy 
Would stay with me. 



112 It Passes By 

Ellen, When one may be alone 

Perhaps 'tis easy to remember. 

Richard, You — 

You have forgotten ? 

Ellen, I have waked. 

Richard, It passed 

And left no bitterness? 

Ellen, How can I tell? 

The dream just vanished and the truth was 

there. 
And, after all, the truth is best perhaps. 
I owe you thanks for knowledge. 

Richard, Once I feared 

Your faith — so luminous it was, so tempting 
To the black winds. And afterwards I feared 
The shadow there. I took the shock for you, 
And felt a darkness falling. Since the change, 
Sinqe my great night, but one desire has held 

me — 
To reach you through the silence. But it seemed 
So far ! The stars are awful in that south — 
Unwinking eyes of the great noiseless God, 
Conscious, inscrutable. I watched them shine 
Through the keen vivid blue, until it seemed 
Much nearer to the stars than to your feet. 

Ellen, Yes — I was far away. 



It Passes By 113 

Richard. Alone in crowds 

As I upon the desert. 

Ellen, But it passed. 

Richard, I could not come. 

Ellen. I could not hear. 

Richard, But now 

After the years of longing, suddenly 
The spacious earth consented — all its wastes 
Of sand and sage ; and the high spheric sky, 
Even to its verge of suns invisible. 
Consented, and I came. 

Ellen, How strange it is — 

Incredible — that all is just the same. 
You here, and I, and yet the love is gone ! 

Richard. Not strange. 

Ellen, Did not I call it by 

large names ? 
Eternal and unchangeable it was. 
Fate ordered it, God sanctioned it, our souls 
Were one for life and death. 

Richard. For life and death. 

Ellen. I have never been so sure of any- 
thing. 
Never so sure. And yet to-day perhaps 
This festival of death is made for that. 
And the long dirges mourn it. 



114 It Passes By 

Richard, Peace be with it ! — 

And honor! 

Ellen, Peace and honor! It becomes 

A happy memory which has been a shame. 
Now I may light white candles on that altar. 
Set lilies there. 

Richard, I bring them, and from me 

You take them. Look ! I thank you from my 
soul. 
[He takes her handsy and they look in each 
other s eyes a moment, 
Ellen, Why did my lover leave me ? 
Richard, Oh, your eyes 

Conjure these desolate years away ! 

[He drops her hands and turns away, 
Ellen, Ton left me. 

Richard, Ask it of him — the scholar, 
general. 
President almost. 

Ellen, Unto Caesar then 

You dare appeal. 

Richard, To Caesar ! 

Ellen, Hush — he pays 

The forfeit. 

[T^he dirge is passing the house. Soon it be- 
gins to grow slowly fainter. 



It Passes By 115 

Richard, Lavishly we lay all down — 

Ellen. Why ? Why ? 

Richard. There is a beast that 

drives us on. 
And a dark riddle waiting in the pit. 

Ellen. And in the pit you do not spare the 
lost — 
The riddle who is woman. 

Richard. Once she was. 

Ages ago, before such brutes as I 
Made her a devil. The score is old between 

us — 
Eternity will strike the balance there. 

Ellen. And I was singing up those mapled 
hills 
A thousand miles away — and dreaming dreams. 
I should have stayed. 

Richard. No — no, I was not fit. 

Undisciplined, unguided, all my life 
The slave of impulse — no, it was to be. 
Must be, to save us. 

Ellen. Though we died of it. 

Richard. I saw you lying white, in a scorched 

world. 
Ellen. I learned to be alone, and not afraid. 
Richard. I saw you always — so the courage 
came. 



ii6 It Passes By 

My life had been a garden made for me ; 
Now it should be a desert. I would gnaw 
The rocks for sustenance, winnow my will 
Through whirling sand-storms. I would take 

from men 
Nothing, from fortune nothing. I would give 
The leaping beast in me a bitter fight — 

Ellen. Hush ! — I grow dizzy. Let me 
think ! — So you — 
The traitor and deserter, whom I swept 
Out of my life — you are the faithful lover. 
And I the faithless. 

Richard, You were brave. 

Ellen. But now — 

Now you are here, a man, a conqueror — 
Oh yes, I see the battle in your face. 
The victory in your eyes — now you are here. 
Why do I fail ? 

Richard. Good God ! it is not you ! 

Ellen. Have I grown hard while you were 
growing great ; 
Self-righteous, while that fight for life or death 
Taught you humility ? I must have lost 
Some fineness of the soul that once was mine. 
Or I could take your hand and go with you 
Up to the mountains. 



It Passes By 117 

Richard. Hush ! 

Ellen. The saddest thing 

Is change. I thought I could not live ; and then. 
When death refused me, knew I could not smile 
Ever again. And then — I am ashamed 
To tell how soon my life bloomed out again. 
And all the past of ecstasy and pain 
Was utterly gone, as it had never been. 

Richard. The only thing that passes not. 

Ellen. I wondered 

If anything endured, if human souls 
Forgot their seasons like the trees ; I dared not 
Measure the perfidy. And even to-day. 
It frightens me to feel;, deep in my heart. 
The quest of love, to search the eyes of men — 
Each casual new one — with that secret hope. 
Oh, you despise me ! 

[ She sinks into a chair ^ burying her face in 
her hands. 'The dirge in the distance comes 
to an end and stops. 

Richard. Nothing can forget. 

Each summer leaves the record of its growth 
Even in the tree. So you have won from me 
The power of greater love. 

Ellen. Is it not shame — 

This eagerness that will not rest from seeking. 



it8 It Passes By 

That conjures dreams to feed on, seals my heart 
Lest lips and eyes betray it ? What are we 
More than the beasts, if every sense allures us, 
And nothing steadfast proves the ruling soul ? 
And what am I more than that other woman, 
Save for the casual fate which cast me here, 
And her upon the street ? 

Richard {seizing her wrists). Be still ! Good 
Heaven ! 
How ignorantly — 

Ellen. I have shocked you — so — 

Forget me now — you know me as I am. 
I never dared confess it to myself 

Richard. The quest of love, you call it. You 
are blind — 
It is the quest of God. You will not find 
The starry soul that you are looking for. 
Even at the marriage altar. But at last 
This violent tumult of the blood will still 
Into a deep serenity, and then 
The big round world with all its throng of 

souls 
Will be too little for your love. 

Ellen {looking up at him). Perhaps 
I shall no longer feel ashamed, my friend. 
Now I have told. 



It Passes By 119 

Richard. Shame is a deadly thing — 

A curtain at the windows of the soul. 

Ellen, I will begin to learn — I have begun. 
For knowledge is the thing — I thought that 

out — 
To save us from ourselves. Do we not need 

it — 
We women whom long ages have shut up 
With mad emotions ? It is sweet to feel 
The cool white hand of knowledge on my brow 
And bid her lead me toward the far-off light. 
Perhaps at last — 

Richard, At last — 

Bi,llen, I may be fit 

To do some work in the world. 

Richard. And all those years 

The thought of you will be my gladness. 

Ellen. • Strange ! 

Shall I learn to be glad in all those years ? 

[Phoebe comes tripping in. 
Phcebe. Miss Ellen, you 're not looking. 
[Ellen turns suddenly and catches the child 
up with a passionate embrace. 
Ellen. But we will. 

Phcehe. It 's coming — Mr. Humphrey says 
it IS — 



I20 It Passes By 

With six black horses, and a lot of men 
Singing a song. 

Ellen, And will you show it to us ? 

Phcehe. It *s big and black, with feathers wav- 
ing on it. 
It 's coming next — and these are the Hussars. 
\_^hey approach the windows, 
Ellen, Splendid ! — see how their horses 

shine and prance ! 
Phoebe, Why do you stay in here ? 
Richard, Because we see 

Things even more wonderful. Have you not 

heard 
She is a princess ? 

Ph^be, Who ? 

Richard, Miss Ellen is — 

A princess with a wand. She has a throne 
Up in the mountains. 

Phoebe. Will she sit upon it ? 

Richard (sitting down and taking Phoebe on 
his knee), A throne made of new gold, 
with draperies 
Torn down from flaming worlds — purple and 

yellow, 
Queer blues that burn like scarlet, till the sun 
Boils over, streaks the whole round polished sky 



It Passes By 121 

With orange and hot green, and slowly then 
Simmers away. The night comes sailing softly 
Above her throne, and cools the ashen air 
Into a vast clear fathomless white blue 
That shows the stars to her — such flashing 

stars — 
Each one a soul that sings. 

Phcebe. And is it far ? 

Richard, As far as heaven, perhaps. 
Ellen. Further than death. 

Phcebe, I saw a princess once. She had a 
star 
Lit on her forehead. 

[ '^0 the south — right — a dirge begins ^ 
chanted by mens voices^ with long pauses 
between strophes. During the first stanza, 
Isabel comes down the stair, followed by 
the Doctor. Isabel pauses at the door 
an instant, looking with keen anxiety 
and hope at the three seated unobservant 
in the window. The next instant Phoebe 
runs to her mother, followed by Richard. 

(Song without^ 
Soldier, ruler, hero, friend — 
In thy train once more we wend. 
Lead us onward to the end. 



122 It Passes By 

Phoehe, Mother, come and look ! 

Isabel Ah, Richard ! 

Richard, Dear my lady ! 

\He takes her hand and bends over it, Kate, 
Ida, and Harold enter behind her from 
the steps, 
Isabel, It is good 

To win you from the desert, to expect 
Your shadow at my door. 

Richard, But I have come 

To say good-by. 

Isabel, No — no — you shall not say It. 

\She glances beyond at Ellen, who at Rich- 
ard's word had turned to look out, 
Harold {to Kate). She has a heart, you say. 
Kate. If she has not — 

Harold, Ah, Mrs. Everett, to you at last 
Our homage ! 

Isabel, Did the other guests make way ? 

Kate, They all stood up, like silent sentinels. 
And then, when we besought, they all sat down. 
And so, row upon row, we gazed at ease. 

Harold, They were so still that even my elo- 
quent tongue 
Caught the disease. 

'The Doctor, Keep it a moment more. 



It Passes By 123 

{Song without,) 
Life was lavish, life was bold. 
Now her blows and boons are told. 
Now her dreams thine eyes behold. 
Harold. Nay, but not all her dreams ! 
"The Doctor. Now verily 

Doth the old order change, since he can 
die. 
Isabel, How vast the infinite must seem to 
him 
Who was so busy in his little world ! 

Richard. He took its error frankly with its 
good. 
Lived on the level of his time. 

Harold. Perhaps, 

But not above it. 

Ellen. Not a prophet — but — 

Harold. A type, an average. 
Ellen. And something more — 

A man. 

Isabel. And with a heart ! 
I'he Doctor. And something more — 

A leader. 

Isabel. Publicly and privately 
He erred — and yet — 

Richard. We bow to let him pass. 



124 It Passes By 

Fhoshe [clapping her hands — at the window). 
It 's here ! 
[All stand silent with bowed heads. 'The 

chant grows loud without. 
On the highway fared thy feet, 
Marching ever, brave and fleet. 
Through the wind, the dust, the heat. 
Phoebe (looking up at Richard). Why do they 
sing ? Is it for God ? 
[Harold smiles^ and some of the others, 
Richard stoops and lifts her, 
Richard, For God, or else how could he 

know? 
Ellen, Ah, Phoebe ! 

The Doctor, So he is gone ! 
Harold, And we must go. 

Isabel, And I — 

Back to the sick. 

Harold, I to the office. 

Kate, I — 

To — which, of half an hundred things that 
claim me ? 
Harold {to Richard). And you — what is it 

calls you from the West ? 
Richard, Dry wastes, that thirst for rivers. 



It Pass es B y 125 

Harold, You will reap 

Harvests, where never blade of grass has growij. 
Ellen. The wilderness will sing for you. 
Richard, And you — • 

Ellen. Oh, let me learn ! 
Phcebe. Is it all over now ? 

[_^he chant is heard more faintly. 

Comes the long sweet solemn night. 

Sleep and silence close the fight. 

Hush — till morn reveals the right. 



THE END. 



Electroiyped a7td printed hy H. O. Houghton &* Co. 
Cambridge, Mass., U.S. A. 










o . ^ >» A 



^" .,- ^-^ "'^ A* .. <-. "^'-"^ -^^ 








O. ^.-o^ .0-' %>'•,,•.- 

C^ <^ > ^ V • o , "^ </■ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 

tiT '^ <C^ '■!\^<^^* *>>• « Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 

5" v/'^^V *io\W/>7l''o ^ ,^^ Treatment Date: Sept 2009 



^0 







:^^m%- 



^^0^ 



' s'^'^^-c PreservationTechnologies 

* 4^ '^ A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

■^ -'"■ 111 Thomson Park Drive 

- Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 

(724) 779-2111 

o V 









'^-^..^^ 









-^.-^^ 









,*^ 


















LIBRARY 














